


Dripping Like a Honeycomb

by abstractconcept



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Avalanche, Colorado Avalanche, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Outdoor Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Skinny Dipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2451302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It really, really doesn’t need a summary, it’s that PWP. Just two guys in a boat, rocking said boat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dripping Like a Honeycomb

**Author's Note:**

> For adele_sparks’ birthday (hey I’m only a few months late, no big deal, ugh) who requested: _could I have a little summertime splashy-splashy, sexy-sexy? Playing in the hose, skinny dipping, getting caught in the rain...your choice of pairing._
> 
> Also, in accordance with my superstition, I wrote the majority of this during the game today, causing us to win. You're welcome. ;)

Technically, there should have been two people in the boat—one to drive, and one to keep an eye on the water skier. But no one was going to run into Matt (a perk to visiting a friend with a private lake) and anyway, Matt had taught Paisley to bark whenever Matt went down. 

That, Patrick had to admit, was a good trick. 

Paisley took his job very seriously, sitting ramrod straight in his own seat, eyes fixed on Matt. Patrick thought that was hilarious. 

He glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Matt hotdogging. Jesus, that kid. Didn’t matter if he was on the ice or off, he had to get fancy. Grinning widely, Patrick spun the wheel sharply. It took a couple of seconds, but Matt eventually slid way out to one side, hit a particularly large wave kicked up from the wake of the boat, and wiped out. 

Patrick watched him go flying, skidding over the water like a skipped stone. A couple of seconds later he bobbed to the surface, shaking his head. 

Paisley promptly began barking, raising the alarm.

Laughing, Patrick slowed down and turned around. 

He headed over to Matt, who ended up pretty close to the shore. Patrick would have to watch that, next time. As he got nearer, he noticed something blue floating nearby. After getting a better look, his grin grew even wider. He fished it out and tossed it in the gunwale. He turned the boat toward Matt and killed the engine. 

“Hey, you were doing pretty good there, Dutchy,” he said cheerfully. “Right up to that last bit.”

Paisley ran over to the side of the boat and looked down at Matt, wagging his tail madly. 

“Uh . . . yeah. Thanks a lot for knocking me on my ass,” Matt told him. 

“Eh, you need a challenge.”

Matt was acting weird; he kept dipping his head in the water. 

Patrick leaned down. “You need some help?”

“Huh? No, it’s fine. I just, uh, need a second.” He turned as he treaded water, scanning the water all around. He turned in a circle, repeatedly dunking his head. 

“Here, allow me,” Patrick said. He reached out, grabbed Matty’s head, and dunked him hard. Paisley let him know in a loud, certain voice that he objected to this. 

Matt came up spluttering. “Damn it, Patty,” he coughed. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I was helping you do whatever you doing down there.” He gave the guy his most angelic look. 

“Yeah, right.” Matt looked up at him and turned very red. “I, uh, lost my swim trunks.”

Patrick smiled at him sweetly. “I know.” He reached over and picked up the errant swim trunks and held them up high for inspection. 

“Oh, thank God,” Matt said. “I wasn’t looking forward to heading back to your buddy’s cabin nude from the waist down. Toss ‘em here.”

Patrick’s smile grew impish. “Oh, you want them?” he said innocently. 

Matt’s mouth did that ‘o’ thing it did whenever he just couldn’t believe what was happening. “ _Patty_. . .” he said in a scandalized warning voice. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Eh? What you gonna do for me? Huh? Have to earn these babies back,” Patrick told him. 

Paisley, meanwhile, was obviously distressed. He trotted back and forth, looking anxiously at Matt, wondering why he wasn’t climbing into the boat.

Matt gave a disbelieving laugh. “Patrick, you better hand over those shorts,” he said. 

“Oh, yeah? Or what? What you gonna do to me from down there?” Patrick plunked an elbow down on the side of the boat and rested his chin against his fist, eyebrows high. 

Giving a determined huff through his nose, Matt started to try to clamber aboard. But the side of the boat was slippery wet, and Patrick shoved him back off, laughing.

Paisley barked and finally decided he’d have to go to Matt’s rescue, leaping into the water with a big splash.

“Oh, great, now look what you did,” Matt said. He tried to pull himself up again, but Patrick pushed him back. 

“Nuh-uh, not till you promise to give me what I ask for.”

Matt bobbed there in his life jacket, steaming, but a smile still played around the edge of his mouth. Paisley doggy paddled in circles around him. “What do you want?”

“You take your best guess,” Patrick teased. 

Paisley swam to the shore and proceeded to climb out, trot back and forth on the beach, and bark encouragingly at Matt, as if to point out how close he was. 

Matt shook his head, laughing at Patrick’s nerve. “You are _so bad,_ ” he said. “Come on, we’re outside. Anyone could see us out here!”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “We are in the middle of nowhere. Come on, you big chicken, stop be afraid.”

Matt scowled at him. He was particularly cute when he wrinkled his nose like that. “I am _not_ a chicken.”

“Too big a chicken even to skinny dip,” Patrick observed. 

“Ha! Big talk, old man. I don’t see _you_ swimming around in your birthday suit.”

This was the wrong thing to say, especially to Patrick Roy. Patrick Roy had never met a risk he didn’t like or a dare he would turn down. He promptly stood up and shucked his shirt.

“Hey, wait! You’re not . . .” Matt said, still treading water and staring, wide-eyed, as Patrick toed off his shoes. “Jesus Christ!” Matt squeaked as Patrick shed his shorts. 

“Look out below!” Patrick bellowed. He cannonballed into the water beside Matt and came up gulping for air, shaking his head to get the water out of his ears. It was a beautiful day and so warm that it was like swimming in bath water. 

“You’re _crazy!_ ” Matt hollered, laughing. Paisley had discovered a turtle walking along the shore and had immediately forgotten his solemn duties to his master. He had discovered he could just get his mouth around it and was parading around the shore, showing it off. 

Patrick splashed Matt. “Ha! Older than you, but braver still,” he said. 

“And crazier! And with less sense than ever!” Matt laughed. “Are you sure this isn’t a sign of dementia?” Patrick answered by dunking him again. “Stop that!” he spluttered when Patrick let him up.

“Have some respect for your elder.”

Matt splashed him, and Patrick tried to dunk him again, but this time Matt was ready. “Don’t try that again; I know how to deke and spin and I never met a goalie I couldn’t get past.”

Patrick was delighted. “You never had a chance to play against this goalie,” he said. “I don’t play fair. Maybe I pretend to get a cramp to lure you over and then I dunk you again, eh?”

“Not smart to tell me your cunning plan up front,” Matt told him. “Look, can we get out now? My fingers are starting to wrinkle as much as your old ball sack.”

Patrick dunked him three times in quick succession for that, then scrambled back into the boat while Dutchy was still recovering, snorting and spitting water. “You can come in when you prove you can be nice to me,” he said. 

Matty rolled his eyes theatrically. “Oh, my God,” he groaned. “Fine, if I service you sexually will you let me have my pants back?”

“If you are any good at it,” Patrick goaded. He helped Matt out of the water. It amused him that the kid blushed so flagrantly over being nude from the waist down just because they happened to be outdoors. Patrick had skinny-dipped a lot as a kid, but Matt had grown up as some kind of choirboy. He sat back and watched Matt shrug out of his life vest. 

Dutchy heaved a put-upon sigh. “Now, what do you want?”

“Don’t force me to make you walk the plank,” Patrick warned. “Come over here and give me a kiss.” Matt did, crawling on hands and knees. For all his whining, he kissed Patrick quite enthusiastically. “Not too bad,” Patrick judged. “Now off with that shirt.” Matt stripped, face furiously pink, peeling the soggy red shirt off his slick chest. Just to really turn the screw, Patrick slowly looked him up and down. He was in great shape and covered with freckles from a summer outdoors being kissed by the sun. “Very nice,” Patrick purred. “You been working out.” He trailed a fingertip over a cut abdomen muscle, making it twitch.

“So glad you like the merchandise,” Dutchy said with a floppy grin. 

Patrick pulled him forward, kissing him again, roughly. He maneuvered him onto this back, where the lake water trickled off his hard body onto a towel beneath him. Patrick pressed an open-mouthed kiss to one of Matt’s shoulders, tasting lake water, but also the salt of Dutchy’s skin. He sucked his way along Matt’s skin, enjoying the taste of his neck and the swell of his pectoral, his tickling stomach. 

Giggling, Dutchy asked, “What are you doing?” Patrick looked up to see that his smile was broad, his greenish eyes frisky. 

“Gonna lick every freckle on your body,” he growled. 

He liked the way Matty’s face flamed at that announcement. He prolonged his inspection, relishing the way the boy’s body squirmed under his scrutiny. Patrick felt blessed to have an athlete like Matt as his fingertips. Dutchy treated his body like a car—ha, like a muscle car, and took good care of it. Patrick was pleased to do the same—lovingly wash it, keep it maintained, and rev its engine. 

“Will you quit staring at me?” Matt said with a laugh. “It’s disconcerting.”

“No,” Patrick told him mulishly. “I enjoy the view.” He traced the back of his finger down Matt’s arm affectionately. Matt just smiled. He looked good enough to eat, skin glowing from all the time outdoors, his hair damp and messy, tiny droplets of water still clinging amorously to his body so that he had a spattering of sparkles where the light hit just right. “You are a lovely sight, my Dutchy,” Patrick said in a husky voice. 

Dutchy just squirmed, but Patrick could tell he was pleased. “Worked out hard over the summer,” he grunted. 

“Yes, I see that.” Patrick reached out, sliding fingertips up the boy’s torso, relishing the feel of that hard, lean body. “You do a good job this year.”

He could nearly hear Matt’s tail wagging. There was nothing he liked more than Patrick’s praise; he ate it up with a spoon. “Yeah?” 

“Oh, yes. What a good boy you have been this year, not an ounce of fat on you, all bulk . . . pure protein,” he teased. “Makes me want to eat you right up.” Now Dutchy was beaming, all reluctance wiped away so long as Patrick kept up the sweet talk. Patrick leant and licked a stripe along Matt’s hard stomach. “Tasty treat,” he remarked, and Dutchy groaned happily. 

Patrick let his hands wander all over the boy, caressing him, stoking the fire, pressing little kisses to his thighs. “Such a good boy, mon ange,” he muttered against Matt’s skin. “So strong and fast, my hardworking treasure.”

Dutchy gave a little shiver of delight as Patrick skimmed a finger up the underside of his prick, which was swelling hard and hot in Patrick’s hand. 

“Please,” Matt begged. 

Patrick could have pointed out that this was quite the reversal from his earlier position, but it was better not to derail things. He sucked Matt’s prick, enjoying how the boy moaned and squirmed, one leg drawing up, tense, toes curled against the floor of the boat. 

The more Dutchy pleaded, whimpered his name, the more turned on Patrick got. The heat built in his belly as the sun warmed his bare back. Matt’s eyes were clear and lovely in the bright sunlight. He was beginning to buck a little, thrusting into Patrick’s mouth. There was always something exhilarating about making Matty lose control. 

“Patrick,” Matt groaned hoarsely. Patrick splayed his hand against Matt’s stomach, holding him down. He loved how his own name sounded like a blasphemy in Matt’s mouth. “Need you. _Please._ ” 

Patrick sat up. “I like it when you use your manners and say please,” he purred. Dutchy was gazing up at him, eyes dark, lips parted. In the heat of a summer’s day, he smouldered. Patrick kissed him. “You want me to—”

“Just fucking do me, _please,_ ” Matt pleaded. 

Patrick knelt between Dutchy’s splayed legs. God, he was fucking hot like this, spread out, penis stiffly erect, on display to the whole world. Patrick liked the thrill of doing this out in the open. A perverse part of him even wished they had an audience, that everyone could see how perfect his Dutchy was, and how very much he belonged to Patrick. 

He slid into Dutchy’s body, watching him wince a little. Then Matt reached up, digging his fingers into Patrick’s shoulders. “More,” he demanded, red-faced. There was no coy ingenue here now, his eyes frank and daring Patrick to give him what he wanted. 

Patrick began to fuck him, watching Dutchy’s face. 

“That’s it,” Matt grunted. “Just there—just like that.” He was quickly starting to come undone, writhing, stroking his own cock and begging Patrick for more. 

Patrick lowered his head, flicked his tongue against a freckle on Matt’s shoulder, feeling the boy wrap his legs around his waist. 

“Oh, God, Patrick,” he groaned. “Harder, please.”  
“I give you harder,” Patrick promised, panting. He lifted one of Matt’s legs higher, up over his shoulder, to get a better angle. He could feel the waves lap the side of the boat in time with his thrusts. His blood was sizzling, thrumming in his veins. Dutchy was so tight, so perfect. Matt’s eyes were closed now, his brow knitted. He was biting his lip, his face flushed. He whimpered with pleasure at each jolting thrust. Patrick could tell he was close. 

Matt reached up, pulling Patrick down for a kiss. Patrick enjoyed his mouth and the dance of his tongue as he fucked the boy, listening to Dutchy’s moans grow desperate. His body was slick with sweat, bucking up, eager for more. 

Patrick petted him, stroking his hair, murmuring filthy French into his ear as Dutchy squirmed, at the edge. “You like that, my Dutchy?” 

Matt made a strangled noise and nodded. 

“You want more?” 

But Matt was too far gone. Talking was out of the question, though he gamely tried to answer. “It’s so—I want—I can’t—” he babbled breathlessly. 

“Okay, I have pity on you,” Patrick told him with a smile. Matt reached up and dragged a burning finger across Patrick’s lips. Patrick leaned down and kissed him hard, Matt’s hands coming up to tangle in his hair. 

With one last hard thrust he felt Dutchy suddenly jerk beneath him, then felt hot semen spurt against his abdomen. 

Patrick kissed Matt’s cheek. Dutchy looked up at him through glassy eyes. “I don’t think I have any bones left after that,” he sighed, grinning. 

“That okay by me; you will be much more flexible without any bones.” So saying, Patrick pulled both of Matt’s legs up over Patrick’s shoulders. Dutchy just sprawled there, eyes hazy, letting Patrick use him as he gazed up at the man, his cheeks stained pink, hair in disarray, thoroughly used and debauched. Just looking at him pushed Patrick right over the edge. He stilled, eyes slamming shut as he came.

Matt smiled crookedly up at him and pushed an errant lock of wet hair behind his ear, trying to look cool. “So. That was nice.”

Patrick just gazed at him, grinning at his lovely, strapping, naughty boy. “Mon ange,” Patrick rasped. “You look just like an ange, filthy and fall from heaven.”

Matt gave him a smug look. “Sure am. It’s better down here—there’s no hockey in heaven, and no Patrick Roy, either.”

Patrick chuckled. “Not much of a heaven, then.”

Matt sat up, stretching. “You know, I’m not sure why I objected to this. This was one of the best ideas you ever had.”

“I am, technically, the smartest goalie ever lived,” Patrick said modestly as Matt laughed. 

“So. Was it good for you? Did I earn my ‘fucking under the stars’ merit badge?” Dutchy inquired.

Patrick laughed. “Yes. You have earn your underpants,” he said, handing them back to Matt.

“Thanks. I’ll treasure them always.”

“Gotta love these long summer day,” Patrick remarked. He picked up his own pile of clothes and sorted through them. After a moment he frowned. “Hey, Dutchy, you seen my—” he stopped short as he looked over his shoulder. 

Dutchy was holding his boxers up and smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary. “Looking for something?” he said sweetly. 

“Uh-oh.” Patrick heaved a sigh. Karma had caught up with him, as it usually did. “You gonna hand me my underwear?” he asked. 

Dutchy’s answering grin was broad. “Oh, no,” he said. “Not until you earn them.” 

“ _Zut alors! _” Patrick replied with a moan. Then he gave a helpless shrug. “Okay, you win. What you want, a blow job?” He hoped Matt would take pity; he wasn’t young enough to play this game all day.__

__“Are you joking? Between outdoor sex and waterskiing, I’m wiped!” Dutchy exclaimed. “No, you’re not getting these bad boys back until you buy me a nice steak dinner.”_ _

__“Oh, so you are saying you gonna make me free sack it in the restaurant?”_ _

__“The term is free ball, and yes. I dare you to,” Matt said with an evil grin._ _

__Patrick shot him a dirty look, but slipped on his pants anyway. “You got it, then,” he said. Patrick Roy had never met a dare he didn’t like, and anyway, steak sounded just about right. “Just be sure you don’t get too embarrassed,” he added slyly. “You know what I say: balls on the table!”_ _

__“You wouldn’t dare!”_ _

__“Try me.”_ _

__Matt paled and hurriedly handed his underwear back. “You win,” he said._ _

__Patrick laughed. “I usually do. Now call your damn dog and I go buy you dinner.”_ _


End file.
